


In Between Worlds

by Lith_Ithilwa



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Ferelden (Dragon Age), Ireland, Not Canon Compliant, Protagonist Not a Grey Warden, Western Ireland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-07-19 09:23:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lith_Ithilwa/pseuds/Lith_Ithilwa
Summary: Aoife found herself trusted in a new world quite by accident and quite suddenly. That buzzing light that taunted her in the forest? Yeah. She shouldn't have followed it. This new world she's stuck in, it's weird. And dangerous. Monsters, demons, Blight-thingy... Oh, and dragons. Apparently a big ass one. She needs to find a way home, pronto. The only problem is, she has zero clue on how to do that. And as time goes by, she starts wondering if she even wants to...





	1. The Portal

**Author's Note:**

> This story deviates from strict DA:O lore in many ways. It takes place in an AU where many new elements are introduced, including aspects of faerie lore and a slightly modern twist. The Fade is also given an extra function. I will let you discover the rest on your own. :)
> 
> You might find that you recognize some lines of dialogue from the game. I tried to use them sparingly, but sometimes, the wheel simply doesn't need to be reinvented. Others are personal favorites of mine, too golden to pass up.  
> I also tried to sprinkle in some Irish idioms/speech patterns as best as I could from basic linguistic research, but sadly I can't justify a trip to Western Ireland for fanfic purposes (oh, how I wish!) I appreciate any constructive comments on the manner!
> 
> Distances between locations are loosely based on the information found on [Warden's Vigil Wiki: Ferelden Distances](https://wardensvigil.fandom.com/wiki/Ferelden_Distances)
> 
> I hope I did all the fabulous characters of DA:O justice in my depiction of them.  
> Comments and feedback are most welcomed! Please keep everything constructive.

When Aoife woke up that morning, she didn’t expect the day to be anything extraordinary. Nothing in her life was really extraordinary, in fact. She was just one amongst the many other foster care children placed in a wretched family, who’s ‘parents’ were just in it for the money and would soon enough throw her back out when they've had enough of her.

After a quick shower, she shifted through her pile of clothes on the floor and slipped on a clean shirt and a clean-enough pair of jeans. She really needed to go to the launderette, she reminded herself, but she didn’t have the spare change yet. She stared dispassionately at her humdrum reflection in the mirror as she blowdried her long, bronze copper hair, trying her best to tame it before finally giving up and braiding it to the front. Frizzy hair was such a curse in a country constantly doused in rain. After brushing her teeth, she grabbed her shoulder pack by the door and hurtled down the stairs for breakfast.

“Hey,” said Lauren without even looking up from her morning coffee.

Lauren was her foster mom, but Aoife wouldn’t be caught dead referring to her as ‘mom’. Brian, her husband, was at the stove making some eggs and, by the smell of it, bacon.

Aoife walked up to him, purposefully ignoring Lauren’s less than enthusiastic greeting. “Smells good. What’s for breakfast?”

“Me? Bacon and eggs. You? Whatever you feel like digging up.”

She eyed the pan: the bacon seemed just about right. She reached in and quickly grabbed a piece, her fingers painfully brushing the fat at the bottom. She didn’t let it phase her; she knew she needed to move quickly if she wanted to keep the loot.

“Hey! That isn’t yours to take!” Brian called out.

“Finders keepers!” she yelled back as she made her escape through the back door, hastily grabbing an untoasted bagel on the way.

It was just a short walk to Mrs. Murphy’s bakery. The day was cool and crisp, and unusually sunny for Western Ireland. Aoife knew better than to expect it to last all day, but, for the moment, she basked in the sunshine, enjoying the dose of vitamin D. She couldn’t recall how Mrs. Murphy came to be in her life, but she was thankful for her presence. The kind elderly woman has been akin to a surrogate mother throughout her childhood. In the sad reality of growing up in a system that offered nothing but instability, Mrs. Murphy was the one stable thing she could always count on. Even now, just shy of her 18th birthday, Aoife knew she could always turn to her and would be able to continue doing so once she was no longer eligible for foster care.

“Hello?” Aoife called out as she pushed opened the backdoor.

No answer. She let herself in and dropped her shoulder pack on a chair. She perused the fresh muffins, croissants, and soda bread loaves, inhaling the sweet aroma filling the room. She was reaching over to grab a chocolate pastry when someone slapped her on the hand.

“Not before breakfast, lass.”

“I had breakfast, Mrs. Murphy,” she protested.

“Oh, did ye now? Was it a bagel? A granola bar? Perhaps a piece of toast?”

“I…” She hung her head. “Ok, a bagel.”

Mrs. Murphy produced a bowl of porridge, and Aoife made a face.

“No use complaining, ‘tis good for you. Now eat up, then ye can have that pastry.”

“Fine,” Aoife mumbled. She headed to the cupboard and rummaged around for the bottle of Bailey’s, and added a generous amount to her porridge. Mrs. Murphy gave her a disapproving look, as she did every morning, before shaking her head and returning to her ovens.

“Any plans today, dear?”

Aoife shrugged. “Anything other than being at home, I suppose,” she answered, poking at her porridge.

“I could use some help tending the register, if ye like.”

“Sure,” Aoife answered. She liked helping out at the bakery. It was something to do, and Mrs. Murphy gave her a small salary too. It allowed her to buy a few things her foster parents would never cover, such as her art supplies.

The bell on the entrance door rang, indicating the day’s first customer. Aoife shoveled the last of her porridge in her mouth and headed to the front counter - grabbing her pastry on the way.  
  


* * *

  
Later that afternoon, after Mrs. Murphy released her from register duty, Aoife headed out of the market area into a residential neighborhood on the east part of town. Actual forests in Ireland were few and far between, but every now and then you could find one, standing there, like a secluded island in a sea of rolling hills and pastures. Her town was bordered by such a forest.

Most of it was part of a large national park, but Aoife preferred to stick to the section that was not included in it. It stood on the south side of the road, and, best of all, had no designated hiking trails. As such, almost no one ever went there. Unlike the more coniferous section to the north, it was largely populated with native sessile oaks, the kind that gave a sort of mystical feel to the area when the fog rolled in. The southern forest might be much smaller in surface, but one could still get lost there if they weren’t careful. Not Aoife, though.

She confidently headed for her favorite spot down one of the barely visible paths: a small patch of land where the canopy opened up just enough to allow in the perfect amount of light for her to draw. She knew these parts of the woods like the back of her hand. She loved it here. She could almost always be found wandering the old oak forest when she wasn’t with Mrs. Murphy or absolutely needed at home. It offered seclusion and solitude, away from the hustle and bustle of town. Aoife was not much of a people person, preferring the company of birds, squirrels and the trees than that of a crowded pub any day of the week. Loud conversations, live music and céili dancing weren’t really her cup of tea.

She finally reached her beloved spot, and stood in the center for a moment, breathing in the cool forest air. She was home.

She sat down on a tree log, emptying the contents of her pack beside her: pencils in every shade, charcoals, pencil sharpener, erasers, and her beloved sketch pads. Most were full, but she treasured them. So many times have they saved her sanity. Drawing allowed her to evade her mediocre daily life, plunging her into her own little reality where everything was possible and fine-tuned to her liking. She flipped through a few of the pages, gathering inspiration. What shall she draw today? A sketch of her little town? The forest around her? Something out of her own imagination? Perhaps some fantasy work, with dragons and castles and such. The possibilities were limitless.

There was a small breeze rustling the leaves on the trees, and every now and then the sun would peek through the thickening cloud cover, illuminating Aoife’s little patch of paradise. It was during one of those brief moments of sunlight that it first caught her attention. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted a small glimmer, gone as fast as it had appeared. She ignored it at first, but it kept reappearing, tantalizing her. Except every time Aoife stopped and stared in the direction it was coming from, nothing happened. She frowned. What could it be?

Curiosity eventually got the best of her. She packed up her supplies and walked in the direction of the glimmer. But rummaging through the bushes on the edge of the small clearing turned up no results. Aoife frowned, puzzled; she knew she had seen something. Determined to get to the bottom of this, she ventured further into the dense thicket, pushing away foliage and stepping over roots as she strayed further and further from the small path that led back to town. Several times she could swear she saw the glimmer again, but it remained elusive.

She kept going for some time, following what seemed to be the path of the light, without ever being completely sure she was headed in the right direction. Eventually, she emerged in a large clearing. It was devoid of any trees or bushes, saved for one gnarled and very old looking oak that proudly stood in the middle. Aoife stopped in her track, eyes opened wide at the sight.

“Wow…” she whispered, in awe.

The oak tree was magnificent. It was tall, and very large - at least a few feet in diameter. The trunk was slightly bent near the top, giving it an asymmetrical appearance, while the branches spread out like a fan; some of them even reached all the way down to the ground, twisting, turning, and intertwining with each other. Vivid green moss covered huge areas, contrasting sharply with the deep brown of the bark. Aoife slowly approached the tree to lay her hand on its trunk. The oak must have been around for centuries, she thought.

The trunk felt alive under her hand. She could feel it radiating pure energy and heat, adding to the mystical feel of the place. She walked around it, ducking under the descending branches. She paid close attention to all the details: the warmth under her hand, the buzzing sensation of electricity tingling her palm, the ruggedness of the bark versus the soft cushiness of the moss. She had never seen - or felt - anything like this before. Her mind wandered back to the tales Mrs. Murphy would tell her when she was little, the ones about the forest-dwelling faeries.

“The wee folks are a very special people, lass,” she used to say. “They are pure magical energy, them faes, and they are present all around us, even if we can’t see them. Best beware of their trickery! They are charmers, that they are; no sooner you let your guard down, they will lure you into their traps.”

They were interesting tales, especially when it was Mrs. Murphy telling them. She spoke often of the dryads and the pixies, but also of the sea faes, like the Scottish selkies and the Irish _murdúch_ , or mermaids. Celtic lore was full of tales about the wee folks, as they were often called, but Aoife never truly believed in them. They were just stories, meant to entertain children and liven up fireside gatherings.

A flash of bright light zoomed by, startling her out of her reverie. Aoife ran after it, following the curve of the tree. It stopped about halfway around, hovering above one of the large, mossy protruding roots, before shooting down and disappearing on the other side. Aoife came to a halt and peered over it, overlooking a drop of three or four feet. The oak tree was growing on the edge of a small ledge, its roots extending downwards along the steep wall of earth. She gingerly hoisted herself over the root, half sliding half jumping down to the forest floor below.

She didn’t know what she was expecting to find when she turned around, but it certainly wasn’t what she was currently looking at. Nestled between two particularly massive roots stood a bizarre veil of shimmering purplish energy. She stared, dumbfounded. The glint of light emanating from it came and went in a steady rhythm, mimicking the pulse of a heartbeat, while the surrounding air swayed as heated air above a grill often did. But when Aoife extended her hand toward it, she was stunned by how cold it actually felt. The sensation was otherworldly, as though she has touched into some sort of other dimension trying to pull her in. She gasped and swiftly drew her hand back.

She thought about turning around and heading back to town, but her curiosity was too great. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the strange phenomenon. There was a feeling of familiarity to all this, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. She wanted - _needed_ \- to find out what laid on the other side. Slowly, cautiously, she brought her hand forward again. This time, however, when the magnetic coldness stroke, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let the sensation engulf her, and stepped into the veil of light.

Her surroundings shifted abruptly. She was no longer in the oak forest near her small Western Ireland town; rather, she was in a washed-up version of the world that felt neither here nor there. The air was chilled and everything around her looked slightly distorted. She glanced behind her: there was no sign of the portal that brought her here. It had unceremoniously deposited her in the middle of the path before closing up.

“Hello…?” she called out tentatively. No one answered the bouncing echo of her voice.

The small light buzzed by again, swirling around her head like an angry bee before shooting away like a bullet. Aoife bolted after it, determined to not let it out of her sight this time. If it led her here, surely it can lead her home, right? The light being thing suddenly stopped, and just as suddenly shot beams of pure energy straight at her. Aoife yelped as she ducked, just in time.

“Whoa, what?” she said incredulously.

Satisfied that it has destabilized her, it zoomed away once again.

“Wait!” she cried out, trying to catch up with it. “Where ye going? Lead me home! Hello? Wait!”

But it was too late - it had disappeared into the void of this strange world. Aoife shivered, as much from the cold as from the fear creeping up inside. Where was she? She rubbed her hands over her arms as she walked the narrow path, glancing left and right at the scenery of gnarled trees and alien rock formations. It felt like she was constantly being watched, and, every now and then, she thought that she could hear the echo of someone speaking, but there was never anyone around.

She reached a crossroad and hesitated. With nothing substantial to base her decision on, she took the left path. It led her through a series of archways that eerily resembled protruding ribs. Aoife hugged herself tighter; she really needed to get out of this place. A low, rhythmic hum caught her attention. Curious, she followed it, and soon found herself facing another purplish veil tucked against a large tree, pulsing to the beat of the sound. Home! It had to be. Grabbing the strap of her shoulder pack securely, Aoife broke into a run and crossed it without any reservations.


	2. Darkspawn

Aoife emerged in the middle of an empty dirt road that was definitely not home. She skidded to a halt and whirled around; once again, the portal had left her stranded on a path with no obvious way home.

“Are ye fecking kidding me?” she exclaimed in a high shrill. “What in under f--”

There was a loud crack on her left and she spun around.

“Who’s there?”

There was no answer. She squinted at the expanse of trees and thick bushes, but she couldn’t see anything. She faced forward again and sighed. There really wasn’t any other choice but to go straight ahead. She started down the road, following the path bordered by a forest on one side and a tall rocky outcrop on the other. The sun above was bright and hot, or at least more so than what she was accustomed to, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to offer her even a semblance of protection. Once again, Aoife wrapped her arms around her chest, though this time it wasn’t to protect herself from the cold, but rather to try and prevent her fair skin from sunburning in the next fifteen minutes flat.

The path eventually turned slightly to the right, and Aoife spotted a caravan further down. Hopeful, she started running toward it.

“Hey!” she called out. “I need help! Anyone? I’m lost, can anyone help me?”

Just before she reached it though, she came to a sudden halt and gasped as she brought a hand to her mouth. Nothing could have prepared her for the gruesome scene that stood before her: dirt drenched in blood, discarded items everywhere, stray body parts scattered left and right, with what remained of the bodies so mercilessly mutilated they hardly even resembled human beings anymore. Next to the caravan laid two horses, in no better condition than their owners. Horrified, Aoife took a few steps back, swallowing down a wave of nausea. Clearly, no one was going to help her here.

There was another shuffling sound coming from the bushes, and she jerked her head just in time to see vicious-looking humanoid beasts emerge from the woods. Aoife screamed and turned around to flee, only to find that the beasts were coming in from that direction too. In fact, they were coming in from every direction. Surrounded, she slowly backed up until she hit the rocky outcrop and could go no further. Her eyes were wide with panic, her breathing shallow as cold beads of sweat ran down her back. She was going to die here, she was sure of it. Die here, and no one would ever know about it. Not even poor Mrs. Murphy…

“Oh, cripes…”

Frantic, she looked around for something - anything - that she could use. There was a stick by her foot. She stared stupidly at it, momentarily questioning her sanity for thinking she could use it in any significant way. She didn’t get a chance to ponder the thought for very long, though. One of the beasts lunged at her, and Aoife made an instinctive grab for the flimsy stick. Naturally, it did all of nothing to help her plight. All that she achieved was to pester the beast and make it mad. She knew she had only seconds before her, and desperately needed a plan B. A glint near one of the corpses caught her eye; high on adrenaline, she ducked under the beast’s arm and made a dash for it.

She gapped, stricken with apprehension, when she reached the discarded weapon.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! How am I going to wield _that_?”

It was a sword, and a bloody huge one at that. Nevertheless, it was her only option, and a glance over her shoulder told her she was running out of time. She grabbed the hilt with both hands and heaved the silver weapon up at best as she could - which wasn’t very much at all. Still, she managed to swing it in a wide arc before it fell back heavily to the ground, the tip catching in the dirt and tilting her off balance. It didn’t kill anything, but it did hinder some of them. Which bought her the whole of exactly one second; as soon as the tip of the sword grazed the ground, they were back at her again.

“Oh God,” she said. “Shit, shit, SHIT!”

She mustered all her strength to bring the sword up again, hastily attempting another arc. One of the beasts reached her first though and yanked the sword right out of her grasp as it pushed her flat on her back. Aoife shrieked and kicked the ground, trying her best to shuffle backward and away from the demonic monster diving for her.

The events of the next few seconds all melted as one in Aoife’s mind, taking place in rapid succession. The monster roared. Aoife shielded her face with her arm, squeezing her eyes shut. The beast grazed her, and she screamed bloody murder out of sheer fear for her life. She felt engulfed in bright light, and the wind was momentarily knocked out of her. She felt dizzy and quite sure that this was it. Nothing happened. Daring to peak from behind her arm, she saw that the beast, not her, laid dead on its back. Bright lights were still dancing in front of her eyes. She blinked once, then twice, and shook her head to re-align her vision. She saw the sword laying on the ground, only but an arm’s reach away. She threw herself at it, her extended hand tightening over the hilt as she scrambled to get up. She caught movement in her peripheral vision; without hesitations, she brought to sword back up as high as she could and smashed it into whatever was heading for her. There was a loud clunk… and the person was knocked off its feet.

Aoife blinked dumbfoundedly. She was not expecting it to be a person.

Someone yelled behind her.

“Get back!”

Aoife spun around just in time to see one of the dreadfully decomposed looking thing making a dash for her. Her eyes widened, the sword hilt falling from her hands as she inhaled sharply. Her mind and body had finally given out on her and she stood frozen, unable to do anything other than watch her impending doom. Before the thing reached her though - _just_ before - it fell to the ground with a loud gurgling sound, an arrow sticking out of its neck. Aoife jumped back and shrieked.

“Come with me.”

A scantily dressed woman with shiny black hair grabbed her by the wrist and urgently dragged her to the caravan, pushing her against the wheel before doing an intricate dance with her arms and a long wooden staff. She chanted some words that Aoife could not decipher, and a blue ball of buzzing energy enveloped her. Aoife reached out with her finger, intrigued.

“Do not touch it,” the woman ordered, and Aoife quickly withdrew her hand. Chanting more words, she then extended her staff to cast another spell; this time, it was aimed at one of the beasts.

From inside her bubbled sanctuary, Aoife observed the unfolding battle. Two heavily armed warriors, along with the spellcaster and at least one archer, were making good work of the monster hoard. Swords, arrows, and energy bolts were flying left and right, striking down anything in sight. The clanging of metal on metal resonated loudly against the rock wall behind her, along with war cries and orders being barked out. She covered her ears, trying her best to drown out the sounds. The bloodshed was mind-boggling. Aoife had never seen anything like it; then again, she had never seen any demon monsters either.

Before long, the group fell every last one of them, and Aoife was released from her bubble. As the rush of adrenaline left her body, her limbs turned to jelly and it was all that she could do to remain upright. Her shallow breathing was coming out in huge gasps; she knew she was dangerously hyperventilating, but she couldn’t help it. She leaned back against the caravan and rested her hands on her knees for added support, lest she fainted right then and there.

A sweet-looking girl with short red hair and a bow slung around her back knelt in front of her, forcing Aoife to look her in the eye.

“Breathe. It won’t do you any good to pass out here.”

“What… Where… Monsters… Who…” Aoife tried to articulate, rather unsuccessfully.

“Why are we lingering? She is fine now, let us go,” the spellcaster interjected.

“She is not fine, Morrigan. Can’t you see she is still flustered?”

The red-head hoisted her up against the caravan, keeping a steady hand under Aoife’s elbow. She tilted her head and looked her over with a slight frown.

“You do not look like you’re from here. Nor Orlais. Are you from across the Waking Sea?”

“The… uh…” Aoife replied blankly.

“And what is it you are wearing?” she added, taking stock of Aoife’s outfit. “I’ve never seen such fashion, nor heard of it anywhere in Thedas. Is it new? Those shoes, they look… comfortable.”

Aoife still didn’t know what the Waking Sea was, so she stuck to the questions pertaining to her clothing.

“They are but a pair of jeans, a shirt, and runners. Nothing fancy, really… at least, not where I come from. Where am I?”

“You do not know where you are?”

“Other than on a semi-deserted road infested with monsters in the back-arse of nowhere?” Aoife shook her head. “No, I haven’t a baldies. All I know is I’m not home.”

Someone approached the caravan, and Aoife turned to see a tall and very pretty young lady walking over as she sheathed her sword and took off her helm. She shook her head, her long golden caramel hair falling perfectly and effortlessly in soft curls around her heart-shaped face. Her flawless tanned complexion stood in stark contrast to Aoife’s freckled ivory skin. Everything about her exuded grace and beauty: her confident demeanor, the way her hips swayed under her armor, her piercing steel-blue eyes, her long eyelashes, and even her full, soft pink lips. Aoife hated her already.

“Perhaps the darkspawns knocked you over a bit too harshly,” she said with a lilted accent. “In case you forgot, this is Ferelden, and we are just outside the village of Redcliffe. Are we to assume your caravan was headed there?”

“My? Oh, naw, this isn’t my caravan.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It was just… there, when I got here.”

She raised her distrusting eyebrow further and opened her mouth to speak again, but was interrupted before she could say anything.

“Ah, Neranka, you should see this.”

The pretty blonde turned her head toward the heavily armed warrior Aoife had knocked out earlier. He had taken off his helm as well and was just barely sitting up, gazing intently at something on the ground behind him.

“Alistair..!” She jogged over to him and knelt by his side. “Are you okay?”

He groaned. “Well, perhaps next time throw an extra shield, or something…”

She smacked him on the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“And you’ll hold it up how? With your foot?”

“With my wounded pride!”

She shoved him playfully and he chuckled.

“But here, look. This is strange. Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

She frowned. “No… Morrigan?”

She beckoned the slender spellcaster, who hurried over along with the red-headed archer. Aoife strained to see what the fuss was all about, but with four people armed to the teeth crowded around whatever was happening, she couldn’t make out much.

“What? What’s happening?” she asked.

All four sets of eyes turned to look at her.

“Did you do this?” Neranka asked.

“Do what? What are you looking at?”

“This.”

They got up - Alistair needing Neranka’s assistance - and parted way for Aoife to step forward. She approached the object of their deliberations cautiously, not knowing what to expect. At first glance, she couldn’t understand what they could be talking about: there was a dead monster on the ground, or darkspawn, as Neranka had called them, but the road was currently peppered with them. Nothing very extraordinary here. Somehow though, they seemed vastly interested in this particular one.

But as she approached it, it became obvious why. The thing was encased in a thin layer of pulsing white light. More than that, there was a faint glow of light pouring out of it from all over: from small cracks on its skin to its mouth, and even its eye sockets. It seemed as if it could burst open at any moment, releasing all the pent up energy inside. Aoife put a hand over her mouth, aghast. It clearly didn’t die at the end of any weapon, and by the look on their faces, neither from one of Morrigan’s spell. Could they really be thinking that she did this? But, how..? She took a step back, refusing to entertain the idea.

“No, that’s not me. I swear.”

“A darkspawn doesn’t just start shining on its own,” Neranka said, hand on her hip and gesturing to the dead monster with the other.

“Although, that would be something I’d like to see,” Alistair mumbled.

Neranka scowled at him and he looked away, barely hiding an amused smirk. She sighed in mock exasperation.

Morrigan peered at Aoife suspiciously. “I do not know of any spell that would cause this to happen,” she said, “even using blood magic. I would be most curious to know who, or what, you are.”

Aoife took another step back, gesturing madly. “Look, I don’t know what this is, who ye are, what the bloody hell are darkspawns, and why in under fack this one is shinning like a disco ball..! And neither how I came to be standing here in the hell hot sun that is NOT Ireland! Cripes Almighty! I just want to go home!”

It was their turn to blankly stare at her, speechless.

“So… you are not from here?” the archer asked after a moment.

Aoife threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. “Evidently!”

“What is your name?”

“What?” Aoife asked, taken off-guard by the simplicity of the question.

“You do have a name, no?”

“Aye, of course… I’m Aoife...”

“Pleased to meet you, Eva. I am Leliana.”

Aoife shook her head. “Close, but it’s actually pronounced ‘ _ee-fa_ ’.”

She was used to people making that mistake. Their ears not expecting the slight difference in pronunciation, they automatically heard ‘Eva’. It was even worse when they tried to read it; she couldn’t possibly count the number of times she’s been called ‘Ay-oh-fee’.

“Aoife?” she said, correcting her pronunciation. “It’s a very pretty name, I like it. It sounds exotic.”

“Aye, well…” She shrugged helplessly, unsure what to say or do next. “I’m pleased to meet ye too, I suppose? Thanks for, ah, saving me.”

Morrigan clapped her hands once. “Well, now that these touching introductions are over, let us go lest we be still standing here come nightfall.”

“Right,” Neranka agreed. “Let’s go.”

The two women turned on their heels and started down the road. Leliana and Alistair, on the other hand, did not move.

“Perhaps… we should help her?” Leliana ventured.

Neranka and Morrigan stopped and turned to face them, one looking rather incredulously at her companion, and the other genuinely bored at these further delays.

“Truly you do not imply we take her along?” Neranka asked.

“Well, why not? She clearly seems lost and in need of assistance.”

“And she clearly made a darkspawn nearly implode with light! Absolutely not!”

“I don’t know… I’m with Leliana on this one,” Alistair said. “Perhaps we could bring her back to Redcliffe? Leave her at the Chantry there?”

“Oh, sure, let us backtrack to the town we left two days ago to deliver a suspicious damsel in distress. We have _much_ time to waste on such errands,” Morrigan said, not a little sarcastically.

“But we can’t just leave her here!” he protested. “Suspicious or no, it’s not right to simply leave her to the darkspawns.”

“Are we to assist everyone we see, then? We are already wasting precious time seeking mages to save the boy.”

“Who needs saving. And besides, we needed to go to the Circle Tower for the treaties anyway.”

Neranka closed her eyes and groaned. “I swear, if the darkspawns don’t get to me by the end of this, you two will.”

“Well she started it,” Alistair replied with a pout.

Neranka puffed her cheeks but otherwise ignored his remark. “Morrigan’s right. We can’t afford to retrace our steps. If we absolutely must bring her with us, it will have to be to the Circle Tower. Lothering has fallen, so stopping by the Chantry there is not an option.”

“Perhaps the Templars at the Circle Tower will be able to escort her back to her people,” Leliana said.

“Perhaps, yes. In any case, we need to get moving. I sent Sten ahead to scout out any remaining darkspawns. He will be wondering what is taking us so long.”

And thus, without further ado, the group marched forth, Aoife with them for lack of immediate better options. They kept a fast and steady pace; clearly, they were used to traveling long distances by foot. Aoife was not. Huffing and puffing, she did her best to keep up, but it soon became evident that she was falling significantly behind. She was just about to give up and take her chances with the darkspawns when Alistair slowed down to allow her to catch up to him.

“So tell me, do you always render knights in shining armor coming to your rescue unconscious? Or is it just a one-off thing? Asking for a friend.”

“Aye, well… probably just a one-off thing,” she answered.

He mocked great relief. “Great! I’m glad. Because, you know, I prefer myself standing up. My friend, as well,” he added with a certain glint in his eyes.

Aoife eyed the tall warrior, unsure what to make of him.

“Anywho, we should be catching up to Sten soon,” he continued. “He will have also scouted out a location for us to set up camp for the night.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought about the possibility of spending the night here. “And, how far to the, ah, Circle Tower? Will we be getting there tomorrow?”

“Wow, you really must be from somewhere else. It’s a good fortnight to the Tower from Redcliffe.”

“A forth… ye mean, two weeks?” she exclaimed.

This time, it was his turn to eye her up.

“Alistair!”

They both jerked their heads in the direction of the voice. It was Neranka, and she was gesturing madly at them to speed things up.

“Well, best not keep our fearless leader waiting for too long,” he said playfully. “Come on, we’ll be resting soon.”

Aoife sighed and resumed walking at a faster pace, doing her best to ignore the ever-increasing burning sensation in her calves. They soon caught up with the others, and for the most part, walked the rest of the way in silence.

“For what it’s worth…” Aoife eventually said, somewhat impulsively. “Well, I’m sorry I knocked ye over on the head.”

Alistair blinked at the suddenness of the comment, then laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time I got the lights knocked out of me. Although, it would be the first by a mysterious yet pretty lady who makes darkspawn glow,” he added pensively.

Aoife kept her gaze straight ahead, knowing that she was turning scarlet. In front of them, she swore that she saw Neranka stiffen just a little.  
  


* * *

_  
/ A. N. / This is where it gets interesting for both parties! Aoife has no clue where she is and what is ahead of her, and our lovely Warden & Companions bunch are scratching their heads about who, or what, this strange new girl is. We get a glimpse of Ferelden and the 'Warden Group' from Aoife's point of view, which I think is an interesting twist from having the Warden as the mc._

_As last time, I tried to give Aoife her own voice peppered with idioms she might actually say and use (and not sound like I would here in North America). I did my best to narrow them down to her locale; once again, if anyone spots anything on that front, I'd gladly like to hear about it!_

_Hope you enjoyed!_


	3. Zevran Arainai

Aoife awoke to the sound of birds chirping. A soft light seeped through her eyelids, indicating that it must be early morning. She groaned as she stretched, feeling rather stiff. Something was off; surely this hard surface beneath her couldn’t be her bed? She fluttered her eyes open, and confirmed that it indeed wasn’t, nor, for that matter, her bedroom. She shot up like a bullet.

“Where am I?” she blurted in a panic.

“Well good morning, sleepyhead. We were just about to wake you; Leliana said you must be exhausted still, and that we should let you rest a bit longer. We do need to head out soon, though.”

Aoife whipped her head toward the person who just spoke. A tall and brawny looking guy with short, slightly spiked auburn hair was securing the last few ties of a backpack. He was dressed in a navy-blue garment that opened up at the sides and revealed glimmering golden scales through narrow stripes in the front and back. A leather belt holding metal tassets was secured around his waist. On his legs were various parts forming what amounted to effective yet flexible boots. If he had also been wearing the upper body armor pieces, sword, and shield that laid on the ground beside him, it would have completed the image of a medieval knight in full regalia. She frowned - why was there a knight before her, and, more importantly, why did he seem so familiar?

“Bloody feckin’ shite!” she suddenly exclaimed, owing herself a raised eyebrow from a curious Alistair. “It wasn’t a dream!”

He stood up, grabbing his pack and hoisting it on his shoulders. “What wasn’t?”

“You!”

His raised his eyebrow further. “First you knock me out, then you… dream of me? Should I be flattered? I mean, I know I’m quite the prize, but we har--”

Aoife shook her head and waved his comment away. “No, no, not you. I mean, yes. I mean, no. Yes.”

“Wow, you’re making _total_ sense.” He extended his hand to help her up. “Perhaps Neranka was right and the darkspawns really did hit you a bit too harshly on the head.”

“What I _mean_ ,” she continued, making a swooping motion with her arm, “is that this whole damn thing wasn’t a dream. Cripes Almighty, I was rather hoping it was…”

“Why would it have been a dream?”

His answer didn’t register with Aoife as she looked around the now mostly packed up camp. They were in a secluded area bordered by a small wood, presumably just off the main road.

“I need to get home,” she hastily said, making a move toward her own shoulder pack.

“Whoa, whoa!” Alistair grabbed her by the arm. “Where are you going?”

“Home!” she repeated, attempting rather unsuccessfully to shake him off.

“So you remember where home is today?” asked a distinctive feminine voice.

Aoife’s features hardened as Neranka joined them by the extinguished campfire, reaching over to relieve Alistair of the backpack. She smiled warmly at him and nodded to his armor on the ground, indicating they were ready to leave. Her own armor, a perfect match to Alistair’s, was already fully equipped except for the helm.

“Of course I do,” Aoife replied tartly. “It’s… well, ye wouldn’t understand.”

She jerked her arm again, and Alistair finally let go. She grabbed her pack next to a tattered blanket and a rolled-up bunch of fabrics that had respectively served the functions of her bed and pillow.

“No? Try me,” Neranka said as Alistair started clasping his cuirass in place.

Aoife took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She crossed her arms and looked Neranka straight in the eye, challenging her.

“Actually, maybe ye would understand. I saw Morrigan cast magic, after all, so what I have to say shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.” She paused. “I came here through a portal that lead me arseways in a faded-out, distorted, and fair cold alternate dimension of sorts.”

Neranka inhaled sharply and Alistair stopped midway into positioning his gauntlets. Aoife didn’t leave them time to comment.

“Aye, a portal. And no, I haven’t a feckin’ baldies how it works, but I’m fair sure another will lead me back home when I find it. So, I thank ye kindly for yer help… but I’m after going to try and get my arse back home now.”

They were both starring wide-eyed, Alistair still frozen in mid-action.

“Nera, that sounds like…”

“I know,” she said.

“Do you think..?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we..?”

“No. Just let her go, Alistair.” She turned around and swiftly walked away. “Let’s head out, everyone. We still have a good ten days to go before we reach the Tower, and we best not linger.”

Aoife huffed in exasperation. She had no idea what that little exchange between them was about, and she didn’t give a shit. She turned on her heels and stubbornly walked to where she hoped she would find a way home. Behind her, she heard the metallic click of Alistair’s gauntlets snapping into place.  
  


* * *

  
About three hours later, Aoife bitterly regretted her decision. Not only had she found exactly zero signs of any portals, she was also desperately lost. She couldn’t tell north from south, nor if she was simply going around in circles, examining the same damn patch of trees fifty times in a row.

The sun was now directly overhead, indicating that it was mid-day. That was another problem: she had no food. She cursed herself for having been so short-sighted; she should have at least took something with her before storming off. She blew her cheeks, wondering what she could do now. What a dreadful mess she had put herself into. She should have stayed with the group. At least they were headed somewhere; she was headed nowhere. Exhausted, she had a passing thought about preferring darkspawns to this aimless wandering.

“One move and I shall slide this blade across your throat,” a voice hissed in her ears.

Aoife had never heard him coming. Instinctively, she brought her hands up to the arm pinning her to her assailant’s chest. The blade pushed in a bit deeper.

“I said, one move.”

She let out a small whimper but otherwise went very, very still.

“Good lass. Tell me, how much do they know?”

“Who-who knows..?” she asked in a high-pitched voice.

“The Wardens. You were with them but this morning. Were you sent as a scout?”

“The who? I wasn’t!”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“No! Of course not! I don’t know--”

A woman wearing tattered commoner clothing jogged over. “They are almost here.”

He gave her a curt nod and pushed Aoife forward. “You are coming with me. Surely I am not risking you running off to warn them.”

Aoife wasn’t going to, but the muscular guy behind her left her no choice in the matter. They reached a small nook in the road, where the sound of shuffling boots indicated that they were not alone. Darting her eyes, she noticed many fighters concealing themselves behind rocks, trees, and bushes. Some remained strategically placed on ground level, while others ran up a small slope; all were poised at the ready, awaiting orders to engage. Her captor showed no signs of being troubled by this; surely these must be his fighters. It was evidently a well-laid ambush - but for whom?

She was brought to a broken down caravan and roughly shoved behind it. Her captor gave her an icy stare that stated she was not to make a peep. She could see him clearly now, a medium-height man with shoulder-length blond hair, a curved tattoo on his left cheek and unusually long, pointed ears. His whole demeanor exuded that he was not to be trifled with. Aoife clamped her lips shut, intent on following his order.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” she heard the woman say further off. “They’ve attacked the wagon, we need help! Follow me…”

He glared menacingly at her, then stepped away. Aoife risked a peek over the side of the caravan. She saw Neranka, Alistair, and the others turning the bend, following the supposedly distressed traveler. As soon as they reached the nook, the woman walked up to the man, a sinister smile on her face.

“You wanted the Grey Wardens, Zevran? Well, here they are.”

“What is this?” Neranka asked, looking around suspiciously.

Zevran did not leave her any time to ponder this further. He drew two daggers from their sheaths on his back and hurled himself at them.

“The Grey Wardens die here!”

Aoife yelped and ducked behind the caravan. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she couldn’t possibly be caught up in the middle of a battle for the second time in two days… could she? This was ludicrous!

The fighting was loud: war cries, pain cries, gurgling cries as fighter after fighter fell down. The thump they made when they did. The scuffling of boots moving to the intricate dance pattern of skillful combatants. Hits reverberating loudly on metallic armors. With each bang, each clang, each thump, Aoife receded further into the corners of her mind, where she was sitting in the tranquil forest back home, peaceful drawing in her sketch pad. She had no idea who had the upper hand. She didn’t care.

When at long last everything grew quiet, Aoife, still breathing fast, dropped to her knees and carefully peaked from under the caravan to take stock of the situation. Zevran was down, clearly injured. Neranka rushed over, pointing her sword at him in such a way that left him very little choice but to remain as he was.

“Talk. Who are you?”

“Ah,” he casually answered, “so it’s questions you have for me, is it? I had rather assumed you would kill me immediately.”

Neranka, unimpressed by his cockiness, simply stared. Alistair skidded to a halt beside her, followed by Leliana and Morrigan.

“Nothing quite like a brush with death to make you… not like death so much,” he said.

Neranka acknowledged their presence with a quick glance, before returning to Zevran.

“I said talk.”

“If you wish. My name is Zevran Arainai, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, hired to slay any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.”

“The Crows? What is a skilled assassin from the Antivan Crows doing in these part of Ferelden?”

“I was in the neighborhood, so to speak, when a somber lad summoned me and offered me the contact.”

Neranka frowned. “Truly. And what was his name?”

“I believe it was… Loghain. Yes, that would be it.”

Alistair scowled. “Loghain. We should have known.”

“Indeed.” She glared at Zevran, inching her sword closer. “What did he tell you? Speak.”

Zevran shrugged. “Nothing. He gave me the contract, and I left to fulfill it. Simple as that.”

“Surely not. What are you hiding?”

“I have nothing to hide,” he insisted.

A large shadow fell upon Aoife. She froze, then cautiously looked up to find Sten looming over her. He reached down and roughly pulled her into plain view.

“Look who I found lurking in the shadows.”

Neranka, already on edge, flipped her lid. “You!”

Aoife knew very well what it looked like. But it felt a little too cliché to blurt out ‘This isn’t what it looks like’. Of course they wouldn’t believe her. Nobody ever believed the person who said those words; at least, not at first. And considering the sheer amount of weapons, reflexes, and fighting skills dispersed between the lot of them, having them believe her _at first_ seemed a rather important thing.

“Care to explain yourself?” Neranka snapped.

“It’s not what it looks like!”

Well, damn.

“What it looks like,” the burly giant said, tugging her arm painfully, “is that you were working with this assassin.”

“No, I swear! He kidnapped me.”

“A rather convenient explanation,” Morrigan said cynically. “’Tis rather more probable that you informed him of our arrival.”

“I knew we couldn’t trust you right from the start,” Neranka said. “Tell me, are you working for Loghain, as well?”

“I haven’t even a baldies who Loghain is...”

“Sadly, the lovely lady speaks the truth,” Zevran interjected.

All heads turned to him.

“You see, I’ve observed your little encounter yesterday. So naturally, when I stumbled upon this one wandering about the road, I assumed she was a scout. I did not want her to warn you of my presence, therefore I brought her here.”

“She left this morning,” Neranka said. “She is no longer with us.”

“Truly? My mistake then. In any case, if you are quite done interrogating me, I may have a proposal for you.”

Neranka raised a skeptic eyebrow. “A proposal?”

“Yes. You see, failing to kill you puts me in very bad favor with the Crows. To be precise, my life is now forfeit. If you do not kill me, they will.”

“And? Get to the part where I care.”

“I believe that I can be of use to you and your noble cause. There is a Blight, no? I have seen the darkspawns. I assume that you aim to end it?”

There was a short pause. “I’m listening.”

“Well, I am rather proficient in lock-picking and stealth combat, and am a skilled fighter - most of the time, I assure you” he added, seeing their dubious stares.

“And why should I trust you to not finish the job later?”

“There’s hardly a point to it, is it? The Crows will likely kill me just on principle for failing the first time. On the other end, taking my chances with you yields a much higher prospect of staying alive.”

“What’s the catch?”

“There is none. You allow me to live, and I serve you. It is that simple”

Neranka was silent for a while, contemplating his offer. Slowly, she began to relax her stance.

“Wait, what?” Alistair said. “You’re not seriously considering this, are you?”

“I believe he could indeed be of use to us.”

“But… he tried to _kill_ us.”

“And he failed. He makes a good point, and we do need all the help we can get.”

“True... But still, I don’t think this is a wise move.”

Their eyes met and locked in a silent battle of wills that stretched over several seconds, until Alistair finally broke it off and abdicated.

“All right, all right, fine. I suppose I do see your point.” He made a face. “Still, if there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.”

Neranka helped Zevran to his feet; he bowed his head, clapping his fist over his heart.

“I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it,” he said solemnly. “I am your man, without reservation.”

“Yes, well, don’t try any funny business,” Alistair muttered. “I’ll be watching you.”

“To be scrutinized by a handsome man like you? I am looking forward to it, surely.”

Alistair blinked. “A little creepy, that...”

Sten jerked Aoife’s arm. “And what about her?”

“She comes with us, too,” Neranka replied.

“May I remind you that she was just found with an assassin hired to kill us, after having hastily run away this morning?” he asked, deadpan.

“I didn’t trust her yesterday, and I still don’t trust her, especially after this. I want her close.” She sheathed her sword. “All right, let’s move out.”

Sten grumbled and roughly steered Aoife along as they headed back on the road. He was tall, at least a good seven feet; the top of her head just barely reached his chest. Naturally, that meant the angle of his iron grip forced her upper arm to remain elevated, which was quickly becoming uncomfortable.

“Let me go,” Aoife said as she struggled to wrangle it free.

Sten remained stoic. “I do not want to let you out of my sight.”

“I’m not going to run off anywhere.”

He didn’t answer, only kept dragging her along. With one final fruitless tug, Aoife resigned herself to walking with her stocky escort.

Neranka and Alistair were cheerfully leading the way. He said something with a crooked smile, and Neranka gave him a push, which only made him laugh more. Clearly, the recent events of nearly being killed by an assassin did not dampen their mood. Leliana and Zevran walked just behind them, engaging in sporadic small talk, while Morrigan closed the party’s rear. Aoife was not inclined to make any small talk of her own, so she remained silent.

Her stomach growled. Once more, she remembered that she hadn’t eaten anything at all since the previous night. She was rather hoping they would stop for lunch, but as the hours passed, it became obvious that it wasn’t going to happen. Either they had already eaten, or they were as skilled at fasting as they were at speed walking. She shook her arm again.

“Yer hurting me,” she grumbled, her mood becoming quite foul.

“If you walked faster, I wouldn’t have to drag you so much.”

“I don’t exactly come from a place where we walk everywhere, so sorry if I’m rusty.”

Leliana turned around. “Perhaps we can let her walk on her own for a little while, Sten.”

“And if she runs? Neranka doesn’t trust her. I don’t either.”

Aoife rolled her eyes. “Please, ye all walk about as fast as I _run_. I wouldn’t get very far even if I tried.”

“Hmpf,” he uttered, but he did let go.

Aoife rubbed her sore arm. She could already see the beginnings of a nasty bruise...  
  


* * *

_  
/ A. N. / What do you think of Aoife’s experience in Ferelden so far? And of her relationship with the Wardens and their companions? Do you think she’ll manage to get home eventually? Or gain Neranka’s trust? I’d be curious to know what y’all think of it so far ^_^_

_In the next chapters, we’ll see just how well - or not - she fares as the party travels to and reaches the Circle Tower. For those who played the game, we all know what is actually going on up there…_


	4. Stay Tuned!

**Next few chapters being written as we speak!**

**Stay tuned for more, and thanks for visiting! :)**  
  


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